Patrick O'Brian - Desolation island

"No, no: the Leopard will never catch the whaler, my dear. When the La Fayette sails tonight on the turn of the tide, you must say farewell to her for ever. She will never be seen again."

Mrs Wogan wanted to understand this matter of the tide - it was dreadful to be so ignorant - and Stephen told her all that he knew, adding that Mr Herapath, who would be rowing the jolly-boat across to see the patients just before they left, would find no adverse current, but rather slack water. It would be perfectly easy for him, in spite of the darkness. There followed a number of questions of much the same kind: when would the whalers take off their forge? Would they have difficulty rowing across? Suppose the wind turned, or failed, would the tide still take the ship away? Would it, indeed? She was happy to hear it. Stephen watched her with pleasure: there was a touching mixture of ingenuousness and skill, and when she had finished he said, "As for what is meant by love, surethere are definitions without end; but perhaps they must all include an abdication of the critical sense. I mean that the one may see the faults of the other, but utterly refuse to condemn them. But come, if I were to tell you my thoughts on the passion, I should still be here at midnight. Good day to you, ma'am."

"Oh, must you be away? Shall you not go with Mr Herapath to the whaler?"

J shall not see him again today. He did propose our meeting after dinner, but to tell you the truth I am very weary at present. It will have to wait till tomorrow. I mean to spend the rest of the day by myself."

Suddenly, and a propos of nothing, Mrs Wogan said, "I know you are a friend of America - Mr Herapath tells me that the whalers sing your praises, and I am sure they should - and when you are next in London I wish you would go to see a friend of mine, a most interesting, intelligent man: Charles Pole. He has a place under government, in the Foreign Office, but he is not the ordinary dull kind of official; and his mother came from Baltimore.' She was looking at him very hard now, not only with affection but with a particular significance.

I should be happy to know Mr Pole," said Stephen, rising. "Good day to you, now, my dear."

She held out her hand; he took it, returned the pressure, and walked off.

He called on Jack, told him that he had desired Herapath to go to the whaler tonight rather than himself, and asked for the loan of his very best glass. He was on the point of going farther, of saying that Herapath should not be stopped whatever the circumstances - even farther, perhaps, if persuasion were needed - when Jack spontaneously observed, "He will have to go by himself, then. There will not be a soul ashore tonight, apart from the women. We are going to hoist up the rudder, and I need close on every hand that can tally on to a rope. Stephen, you will take great care of this telescope, will you not? It Is the very best achromatic, with extraordinary light gathering powers, and a truly virgin objective."

"I will, too. But Jack, I hope you will be able to let me have Bonden, in spite of the rudder? I very much wish to be on my island."

"Oh, one more or less don't signify. But surely, Stephen, you don't mean to miss the hoisting up of the rudder? To miss such a glorious sight?"

"Is this the definitive, final, triumphant move?"

"Oh, of course not. This is for the pintles, Stephen. The pintles, not the gudgeons. But it is pretty triumphant for a sailor, upon my sacred honour, it is."

"My sacred honour," said Stephen, closing the door. "Tantum religio potuit saudere malorum.' And to Bonden, "Barret Bonden, pray be so good as to accompany me to my island in the canvas boat. I must make observations in the afternoon, and later I wish to see my chicks by the light of the moon."

"She rises a little after dark tonight, sir," said Bonden. "Maybe I had best bring a bite and some furs. There will be a rare old frost, once the sun has dipped. Mr Herapath was asking for you just now, sir. He's gone off with the raft, to see if you're in the sickbay."

"Aye. Well, buckle to, Bonden; we must be off. Leave

word that I am not at leisure today, but will see him tomorrow."

Bonden had accompanied the Doctor on many a curious expedition. He made no comment when Stephen concealed himself on the island and trained the powerful glass on the shore, where all hands were assembled to be ferried aboard on the raft. After an hour Herapath appeared in the objective, alone on the beach. He looked thin, worn, sad and tormented. He had a large bundle wrapped up in a cloak, and he carried it across the strand, deserted but for Mrs Boswell and her baby, past the still-smoking forge, to one of the whale boats that were waiting to carry the whole smithy away. The boat-keeper was lying with Peggy under the lee of a rock, out of his sight but within the telescope's view. Herapath hesitated, heard a hall from the cliff where Reuben and his men were gathering their last cabbages, nodded, put the bundle into the bows, and paced up and down for a while before disappearing into Mrs Wogan's hut. A sweep of the glass showed the Leopard, every man aboard staring intently at the massive great rudder as it mounted into the air.

From then on the glass remained fixed on the hut, as though by staring at the door and the oiled-paper window Stephen could learn something of the doubtful battle raging within. "Surely she must overcome him," he reflected. "She has this baby to wield, and the war, and tears, as well as all common sense. But when it comes to honour, dear Lord . . . I could not love thee, dear, so well, loved I not honour more: and so on to the foot of the stake. And there is the infinitesimal fact that he owes me seven guineas for his uniforms: it might prove the ludicrous sticking-point. Who can tell just where another man will Jib? All shame, all ignominies, but not this one. Which one, though? Hardest of all to tell in men that are weak; or weak in places, like Herapath. If she overcomes him, perhaps he will never forgive her: if she does not, she will certainly never forgive him. She will certainly win the day.

Maturin, friend, you are protesting too much: you do not know."

"Sun's dipping, sir,"said Bonden at last. "You'd best put on your cape.

Dipping already. The time had passed with extraordinary speed. Twice Herapath was seen in the twilight: but still Stephen could not tell what was in his mind, apart from conflict.

"They are having a high old time with the rudder," observed Bonden, putting the sealskin over Stephen's shoulders. "The Marines have hauled it into the larboard shrouds, the lubbers."

There were lights all over the Leopard now: Jack did not intend to lose a minute. The stars were beginning to show, dimmed in the south by the aurora australis, waving down there towards the pole, a great arc of increasing splendour: and the frost had begun to fall.

Darkness now, and the barking of seals: the vague forms of petrels in the starlight. "What is that you are smoking?" asked Stephen.

"The best Virginny," said Bonden, with a contented laugh. "There was an old shipmate of mine on shore from the whaler this morning. A bit leary at first, when Joe Plaice and me tipped him the wink, because there is an R against his name. Run, sir. But then we got talking, and he gave us a keg. It don't matter my telling now, because they're winning their anchor, and he's as safe as the Tower. Do you see how the brig's crept across? Now she's signalling. Lantern to the peak: up and down, up and down. Has she left someone on shore? Yet I never seen no boat. Now she's at single anchor, and they're shifting the messenger for t'other. Stamp and go, stamp and go: you hear 'em, sir?" In a deep rumbling undertone Bonden echoed the shanty: Stamp and go, stamp and go, the lady comes from Mexico. "Now the cable's up and down: she's right over her anchor - hear the skipper call for nippers thick and dry."